by Nancy Thayer
“Heather,” Frances announces, “this is your mommy’s friend Tyler.”
Heather is ready for bed, already bathed, blond flyaway hair combed, wearing her teddy bear pajamas and pink cotton robe with a flower for a pocket. She sits on the couch with an interested gleam in her eyes.
Maggie holds her tongue. Heather can be a handful if she wishes; she’s Bette Davis at four years old.
“Oh, yes,” Tyler says, and offers his hand to Heather. “You must be Rapunzel.”
Heather stifles a smile. She sniffs. “I am not Rapunzel.”
“Oh, right, I meant Ariel.”
Heather crimps her lips. “Not Ariel.”
Tyler sits on the sofa, keeping a large space between him and Heather. He thumps his forehead. “I was so sure— I know! You’re Dora the Explorer.”
Heather breaks into a giggle. “Of course not.”
“No? Well then—Madeline? The Cat in the Hat? But wait, you’re not wearing a hat.”
“And I’m not a cat!” Heather yells triumphantly. “I’m Heather!”
“Hello, Heather,” Tyler says formally, extending his hand. “I’m Tyler.”
Heather puts her tiny chubby dimpled hand in his large, elegantly shaped hand. In her best voice, she says, “How do you do?”
“I’m excellent,” Tyler says, “now that I’ve met you.”
Heather’s eyes widen. “Are you the man who travels in the mountains?”
Maggie holds her breath.
“Yes,” Tyler says. “Yes, Heather, but I’m coming home.”
Christmas morning at the farm, the little family of females shares a traditional breakfast of pancakes and strawberries, then gathers around the tree in the living room. Heather has already discovered the wooden easel, box of paints, sketch pads, and colored pencils that Santa brought her. Now she’s old enough to enjoy the pleasure of giving her gifts to her mother, Nana, which is what she calls Frances, and Grand, which is Heather’s name for Clarice. Ben has of course been invited to share the day, but he’s gone skiing in Vail with friends. He’s left a present for everyone, though—a special one for his niece. Maggie goes into the locked study and wheels out a sparkling pink bike with training wheels and glitter streamers hanging from the handlebars. Heather squeals with surprise.
The day is cold but sunny and dry. Maggie runs alongside, holding Heather until she’s steady, then watches her pedal like a mad thing up and down the driveway. Maggie’s happy but impatient today—she wants the afternoon to arrive. She’s waiting for Tyler to get there. He’s been invited for a walk on the moors and Christmas dinner.
After Heather has a forced rest in her room, during which she can be heard babbling the entire time to her stuffed animals, a knock sounds on the front door and Tyler comes in, his arms full of gifts. During the past month his presence has become so normal, it seems he was always around. Maggie wraps an apron around him, he rolls up his sleeves and peels potatoes to be cooked and mashed.
Clarice sits at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. “How’s business?”
“Crazy busy,” Tyler answers. “I have a secretary now—Joanne Post—”
“Oh, she’s a friend of mine,” Frances interrupts. “You’ll like her. She’s reliable.”
“Good to know. Because the appointment book is filling up. I need to hire another woman to help out with fitting and choosing frames.”
Clarice chuckles. “I’ll bet that’s always time-consuming. The color, the style, studying your face in the mirror, do you want round frames or rectangular—”
“Do these frames make my butt look too big?” Maggie jokes.
“Why are you all in here laughing?” Heather stands in the kitchen doorway, rumpled and indignant.
Maggie checks her watch. “You have ten more minutes of rest time.” She shoots a quick glance at Tyler.
“Maggie,” he pleads, as she knows he will, “it’s Christmas Day! Can’t you let Heather get up now?”
“I guess so,” Maggie agrees.
Heather simpers with triumph and launches herself at Tyler. “You’re here! I knew you’d come today!”
Tyler dries his hands so he can lift the little girl to his shoulders. “I think we should go for a walk.”
“I agree,” Maggie says. “What do you think, Mom? Do you need us to help?”
“Everything’s under control,” Frances assures them. “We’ll eat around six.”
“We’ll be back before then. It grows dark about four.” Maggie stretches up to tug on Heather’s coat, mittens, and cap, secretly bumping her body into Tyler’s as she kits her daughter up for the outdoors. She pulls on her own coat and snatches the car keys.
“Let’s go to the moors today,” she suggests. “We haven’t been there yet, not the three of us.”
They drive along a rutted sandy track into the moors and park near Altar Rock. As they stride along in the cold fresh air, they study the gray, dreary, dry foliage, which will be this way until June. To most people, this monotone landscape is faceless, but Maggie, Tyler, and now Heather know that deer, rabbits, and birds hide among the bushes. Occasionally they spot their tracks on the sandy path, or a tuft of rabbit fur caught on a thorn. The pines remain a stubborn green, and red berries shine in the thickets.
“Man, it feels so good to stretch my legs,” Maggie says. She’s holding her daughter’s left hand, Tyler’s holding her right and every few steps they lift her in the air and she giggles. “I love being curled up with a good book on a winter day, but I go crazy if I can’t be outside for a little while.”
Tyler doesn’t answer. She can tell that he’s straining to see ahead. This is the first time Maggie’s walked on the moors with both Tyler and Heather, and she knows what’s around the bend. She knows what she hopes will happen.
And it does.
As they come to the turn in the path that leads them up a slight hill, Heather pulls her hands away and races up to a large boulder. She makes a pretty little curtsy. “Hail, Lord Boulder!” she calls.
Tyler stumbles. He looks at Maggie. “You told her about my maps.”
“I did. Long ago, Tyler, when she was a toddler. I showed her your maps, long before we knew you were coming back to the island.”
Tyler’s eyes grow warm, his cheeks flush. “Foolish.”
“Not foolish. It’s your world, Tyler. It’s always been your world.”
“You’ve always been my world,” he tells her, taking her hand.
“You guys!” Heather chides. “Come on! Let’s go see Princess Pond!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
On New Year’s Eve, after Emily has tucked Serena into her pink canopied bed, she wanders their Park Avenue apartment in search of her husband. She finds him in his study, on the phone. She’s wearing her fluffy bathrobe, preparing to shower before dressing for the corporate party, so she simply curls up on his leather sofa and shoots him a smile, letting him know she’ll wait.
“Right. Bye,” he says, clicking off and tossing his cell on his desk. “Serena’s asleep?”
Emily stretches. “After five stories, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.” Readjusting herself to face him, she asks, “Cameron, can we talk?”
He stretches. He’s not ready for the party yet, but wearing a cashmere sweater and sweatpants after exercising. “Of course. What’s up?”
“Honey, I want to have another baby.” Quickly, she continues, “Serena needs a brother or sister. A baby would bring us closer, I think.”
Cameron folds his hands together on his desk as if about to discuss a business deal. “Emily, I know how you feel. You need to understand my point of view. I’m junior at the firm, working insane hours. Half the time I’m on an airplane and when I’m home, I’m too wiped out to play with Serena, let alone deal with another baby.”
“Cameron—”
“Please. Let me finish. I’m not saying never to another child. I’m saying not now. We’ve gone over this before, and—oh, Emily, don’t cry. That’s not fair.
” Rising, he moves around his desk, coming to sit on the sofa and pull Emily into his arms.
“I really want another baby,” she cries.
“You’ll have one,” he promises, kissing the top of her head. “Be patient, okay? Give me some more time. I need more time.” When she continues to sob, he says, “We rushed into this so quickly, we married in such haste.”
Emily takes a deep breath and composes herself. He’s always a gentleman. It’s what brought her to him, but now she wonders if she hates this civilized, restrained aspect of him. He’s reminding her in the most subtle way possible that she gently forced him into marriage. She owes him. At least she owes him time.
“Okay,” she sniffles. “I’ll wait.” Gazing up at him, she strokes his cheek. “Oh, Cameron, I wish I could do more to help you.”
“You can.” He smiles and holds her away from him. “Glam yourself up for tonight so the senior partners will fall over with amazement when they’re reminded what a babe you are. They’ll think: If that man’s smart enough to attract her, he’s smart enough to be given the biggest, fattest accounts.”
“Okay, then, boss,” she says, standing up. “I’m off to the shower.” She calls over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “Would you listen for the babysitter? She should get here around nine.”
Emily wears four-inch black Manolo Blahniks and a simple black dress that suggests she’s not wearing underwear. She pulls her long blond hair away from her face into a high ponytail fastened with a diamond clip. She spends half an hour on her eye shadow, liner, and mascara, giving a smoky, mysterious look to her blue eyes.
“You look sexy as hell,” Cameron says when he sees her.
“You clean up nicely yourself,” she tells him. He always looks good in his tux.
When they enter the party at the restaurant, they’re aware of all eyes turning to take them in, this sophisticated, gorgeous, fortunate pair. A waiter offers champagne, one of Cameron’s bosses comes up to them, and a moment later, the boss’s wife approaches.
Cornelia Endicott is not young, but she’s powerful, and she wears her power like a crown.
“Darling.” They air kiss.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Cornelia says, taking Emily’s arm and leading her off to a quiet spot in the room.
Three other wives gather around Emily like a coven of fabulously perfumed, extremely wealthy witches. They chatter at Emily, praising her clothes, asking about her darling daughter. They’ve been trying for the last two years to entice Emily onto the board of their favorite charity, which raises money for the squirrel monkeys of Peru. Emily knows very well from watching her mother’s life that this means Emily—as the novice, the beginner—will have to do all the work of running the annual gala. In the past she’s gently refused, pleading the necessary duties of mothering a toddler, but Serena is four now, in preschool, and besides, Emily could easily hire a fulltime nanny.
Over Cornelia’s shoulder, Emily spots Cameron. He’s been cornered, too, by a petite young woman with a sweet face and curly black hair and a voluptuous body that reminds Emily of Maggie. Jessica Beckett, that’s her name. Her dress is red, sparkling with sequins, off the rack, but stylish. She must be a junior executive. She’s new, smart, and very lovely. She’s certainly captured Cameron’s attention. His eyes fasten on her face with ardor, and as Emily watches, Cameron puts his hand on her shoulder. So what, Emily thinks, but then the girl places her hand on top of Cameron’s, her entire little body in its sequined dress yearning up toward him. If they are not already having an affair, they want to.
“What do you think?” Cornelia asks Emily, moving her face right into Emily’s line of vision, moving in close, doing what people call violating personal space.
Emily has no idea what they’re talking about.
“I’d co-chair it with you,” another wife offers. “I did it last year, so I know the ropes. Plus I’ve got files and files on florists, bands, venues …”
Emily acquiesces. “Yes. I’d be glad to do it.” She’s joining the herd, she thinks. She must do this to keep her child safe.
On this crisp January night, a yellow moon rides high in the sky, and the stars are precisely etched in the black sky. Maggie reads Heather one more story before kissing her good night. Quietly she showers, changes clothes, and tiptoes down the stairs to the living room, where Frances and Clarice are watching television.
“I’ll be back. Call if you need me,” she tells them.
Tyler has rented a low-ceilinged cottage on Darling Street. Maggie’s been at his house before, often, while Frances and Clarice babysit Heather.
She parks her car on Fair Street and walks in the moonlight down the narrow lane, so narrow only one car can pass at a time. When she knocks on the cottage door, Tyler opens it at once. He pulls her in, slams the door, holds her tight. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you.”
“Want wine?”
“Want you.”
They climb the steep stairs to the bedroom. Already the windowsills and tabletops are covered: books everywhere, rocks, shells, bits of beach glass, and driftwood. Heather’s artwork is taped to the walls.
Quickly they discard their clothing and slide into bed. Tyler’s long body is hot, hers still bearing the winter chill.
Afterward, they lie side by side, catching their breath, her back curled against his chest and belly and groin, his arm over her waist.
Tyler says, “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.” Her heart flips around like a newly caught fish. She and Tyler have been quite sensible in spite of, perhaps because of, their nearly insane physical passion for one another. They’ve taken the time to learn about each other again. They both want to live on the island forever. They both want families. In all their conversations, the topic of marriage sits in the room with them like a purring cat, patient on a cushion.
She feels his chest swell as he takes in a deep breath. “Maggie, I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. I want—”
“Oh, Tyler.” Tears well in her eyes. She rolls over to face him, she wants to kiss him.
“Wait,” he says. “We might have a problem.”
“Oh, God.” Maggie closes her eyes, clenching her whole body in anticipation. He’s been married before. He has a child. He has five children. He has a disease. He’s—
“Maggie, I have money.”
“What?” The words don’t make sense to her.
“I have a lot of money.”
Warily, she asks, “How much?”
“Well, I guess you’d say I’m well-off.”
She sits straight up in bed. “Tyler, how can that be? Your mother—Clary Able—they don’t have any money! I know them!”
“True. But my father does.”
Maggie studies Tyler suspiciously. “Go on.”
“Dad works in Silicon Valley. He’s made what you could call a fortune in the last ten years. He’s already set up a couple of trusts for me and any children I might have, plus he’s been generous over the years, giving me cash and stocks and so on.”
Pulling the sheet up to her chest, Maggie scoots backward to the edge of the bed, pulling her legs under her. “Tyler, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because you’re not always rational on the subject of wealthy people.”
“Oh, come on—” She’s annoyed by Tyler’s comment.
“Maggie—”
“Okay, maybe I am a bit unbalanced on the subject, but, God, Tyler, you’ve seen what’s happening to this island, it’s being ripped open to provide swimming pools and squash courts for people who spend less than two weeks here, it’s—”
Tyler interrupts. “Let’s return to the more simple subject of you and me.”
Maggie tosses her head. “It’s not so simple anymore, is it?”
“Look. I’m not disgustingly rich. I’m comfortable. I have enough, for example, so we could buy a house.”
“I own a house,�
�� Maggie reminds him. “I own the farm.”
“Yes, well, shall we live there with your mother and Clarice and our children? Wouldn’t you find it a little crowded?”
“You know what?” Maggie begins to pull her clothes on. “I have to leave.”
“Maggie.”
Sitting on the blanket chest, she laces up her boots.
“Maggie, come on. Don’t act this way.”
“I’m not acting any way, Tyler.” She stands up so suddenly she nearly knocks him with her elbow. “I’m confused. I need to—honestly, I don’t know what I need to do.”
“Are you coming back?” Sliding out of bed, he pulls on his trousers.
“I don’t know.” Tears sting her eyes. “Tyler, I love you. But—but now I don’t know what to think.”
“Well, for one thing, you can understand that wealthy people aren’t bad just because they have bigger bank accounts.”
“I know that.” Maggie’s brow furrows. “But money changed Ben. And Emily Porter, my first true best friend, was going to marry Ben, she loves Ben, but then Cameron Chadwick came along with his money and she married him. Really, Tyler, I hate this.”
“Do you hate me?” Tyler asks simply.
Maggie forces herself to take a deep breath. “Tyler, I could never hate you.” She touches his face, and her anger vanishes.
He takes her hand and leads her to the bed. They sit side by side as Maggie calms down.
“You know how to be poor and good,” Tyler says quietly. “Do you think you could be wealthy and good?”
Humbled by his question, Maggie bows her head. “I’m not sure I’m good at all, Tyler.”
Tyler’s smile is gentle. “Why not, Maggie? Because you slept with a guy and got pregnant? Come on.”
“My one-night stand.” Maggie snorts and glances at Tyler. “What an idiot I was.”
Tyler leans against the footboard, listening. Maggie leans against the headboard, her feet touching Tyler, grounding her.
“He came on strong. I honestly believed he was in love with me,” Maggie says very quietly. “I still can’t believe how deluded I was. How naïve.”